War of the Ages
by llothcat
Summary: In which Magneto gets the blame for something terrible. The only thing is, he did not do it.
1. Chapter 1

War of the Ages

In which Magneto gets blamed for something that he did not do.

Ooooo

I do not own either property, I am simply playing in the universes.

ooooo

The thump as the back of the security guard's head smacks hard against the wall reverberated down the empty hallway, but the cold gray eyes of the one responsible did not pay the sound much regard. Those eyes instead glided about the many monitors in the room before finally resting upon just one. The gray eyed man gestured his hand as he entered the tiny shadow draped room, and the limp body of the guard crumpled to the ground.

The man then narrowed his eyes, ever so slightly. The monitor flicked and with a blink of an eye, an image of the collapsed bridge of the Thames river showed itself. People milled about, walking backwards. Another blink from the gray eyed man, and they nearly fully ran backwards as well. In moments, the monitor showed the cheery sun shining upon the bridge that was suddenly there.

Whole. He noted the date that wrote itself in the lower right corner of the screen.

He barely raised a brow when the distant alarms blared. The cap on his head shielded his identity from others thus far, but he knew it was only a matter of time before his time was up. With a sigh, he frowned as he glanced with distain at the body on the floor.

"Nearly the right size." Magneto muttered.

ooooo

a/n: added this chaplet to make the admins here at happy. Doesn't really add much, now does it?


	2. Chapter 2

War of the Ages

Xfolk in general area are: Meggan, Kurt Wagner, Kitty Pride, Rhane Sinclaire, Moria MacTaggert, Rachael Summers, Braddock twins.

A/n- meant this to be a fun little one shot, but I fell asleep before I posted it. I looked it over agian when I woke up, flipped through a few old comics of mine, and rewrote it a bit. I don't know how long it will be, but I hope to do both properties justice.

Ooooo

On a crowded London street strolls a rather tall man. This man wears a snug cap over his head, the bill pulled low over his face, and as the man's hair is worn a bit long, a few locks of shockingly white colored hair escape the cap's confines and grace his neck. His hair color would normally mark him as one of very advanced age, and while that could be certainly true, his body fits well enough in the garments he wears that quite a few women in the crowd about him turn their heads to just watch him pass.

This man stops a moment before a newspaper rack stationed before a shop. His reflection in the window displaying anything to do with coffee looks at the low stack before him.

The newspapers scream out a vengeance in their sordid headlines. He usually turns a blind eye at such things, humans being themselves. The image of the ruined bridge and the list of names that died have some interest for him, and he reaches in the pocket of his jeans for the wallet. He thinks of what he does know of mutants living abroad, and notes that a handful of his precious people died in the nearby event. He retrieves a bill and walks into the shop, and at the counter, dully pays the attendant as he reads through the one headline that did catch his attention.

It reads:

Magneto declares War

He snears at the notion: The fools are blaming him, simply because a metal construction was involved. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised. The very name Magneto is notorious and well known the world over.

He left his island nation behind little over a week ago. He knows he had to be here to see this mess for himself. Unlike one Professor Charles Xavier, he doesn't have a marvelous device like Cerebro to search the area from a great distance. He helped build that machine, but it sits forever out of his reach. An altenative, he well knows, would be a telepath of a high enough caliber to detect what he hopes is hidden in plain sight, but as of yet none have joined his island nation.

He would usually leave a task like this to the school teacher himself, but not this time.

A mutant may have manifested here, and he is the only one that could possibly wrest control of the forces the likely unstable fellow wielded before whoever it is could come to harm. He knows he'll be in real trouble if it's a truly a telekinetic instead of what he suspects, but he has great confidence that he can hold his own against a talent like that.

He has managed quite well in the past.

He follows the crowd to the site of the disaster when he feels it. The offness. He eyes the remains that was formerly a marvel of metal. A great deal of the structure droops as though it were made of taffy, dipping into the Thames, and, he supposes, resting on the ancient river bottom. He frowns at the guessing, as it is about metal of all things.

He should be laughing. For the first time in his adult life, he has to guess. Impossibly, if he feels anything at all, he feels numb. It's like a void has settled where the metal used to sing in his veins.

He reaches up and tugs the bill of his cap down. As he veers away from the crowd, he glances up at one of the many cameras monitoring the London traffic. He hurries along, and on to the next step in his investigation.


End file.
